Pierre Number 18
by Sakuraso Cho
Summary: The animal world isn't so different from the society humans live in. With every wish or desire, a price must be paid. With every loss, there is a chance to gain understanding. Or not.
1. Chapter 1 Rose Pâle

**Note: The characters mentioned in my story are not owned by me. By the way, I don't know what sounds birds make besides "chirp" or "squawk", so if you could please help me by posting...that would be appreciated.**

"I know why the caged bird sings." - Maya Angelou

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July 13, XXXX 12:45 P.M.

The warm sunlight of summer shone through the windows of France's house. France could feel a light sheen of sweat trickling down his forehead as he wrote. He was composing a message for his dear _ami_ Spain.

After about ten or so minutes, France sealed the paper with some tape and opened the window beside his desk. He whistled a few notes before a small yellow bird appeared on the windowsill. "Pierre, be a good little bird and deliver this to Spain," France cooed as he tied the message around the bird's right leg with a thin bow.

Pierre flapped its wings in a manner resembling impatience.

"Ah, my sweet Pierre. What a hard worker you are... I think it's about time for you to get a reward!" France gave an affectionate peck at Pierre. "Now go, my sweet!"

With a beat of its bright yellow wings, the bird took off with the message in hand...or claw. France smiled, looking at the retreating figure. After he could not see Pierre anymore, the blonde male went to his house's garden. Roses of every color greeted him as he approached. Other Pierres flew about the garden lazily.

The Frenchman swiftly walked over to the bunch of red roses. He did not even glance in the directions of the ones that were not colored red. He knew that they were well off and taken care of, because after all, he was the one who tended them. And anybody in their right mind, knew that Francis Bonnefoy was the best horticulturist there ever was in the world.

But even the best had problems from time to time.

They're still not red enough.._._ thought Francis sadly.

And indeed they weren't, the red roses looked sickly pale, as if the red had been "sucked" out of them. France could not figure out the reason for this.

"What if they continue to grow like this?" France mumbled. "What will become of the red roses? What will become of my status as the most romantic country if I don't even have red roses? Will some upstart take my place? Haaah haaah... _non non non_, I shouldn't think like this, it will influence the roses. I must stay calm... breathe Francis... breathe! Okay... okay... got to water them first ...water ...water..."

The Frenchman ran off to the shed where he kept all of his gardening equipment. He did not notice that a certain Pierre was watching him from above. This Pierre was the eighteenth one he owned.

Pierre #18 sensed a certain sadness emanating from France. "Chirp chirp?" ("What's wrong with him?", translated by the awesome bird-whisperer Prussia) Pierre #18 asked the other birds in the garden.

"Chirp chirp," ("Probably worried 'bout something,") replied Pierre #7.

Pierre #18 flapped its wings in frustration. "Squawk! Sq-squawk?" ("I know that! But why?")

"Chirp chir..." ("Don't know...") Pierre #7 admitted.

Fed up with #7's response, Pierre #18 flew off to another tree. The small creature asked all the other birds, but came up with the same kind of answers that #7 gave. Shortly after, France arrived with a watering can in his hand. #18 noticed his presence and flew over to perch on his left shoulder.

"Hm? Oh, it's you Pierre. What a sweet thing you are. Ah... mmm... these roses haven't been doing well. I don't think I can make it in time..."

France let out a long sigh, then proceeded to water the problematic roses. The waves of sadness emanating from him earlier were nothing compared to the despair Pierre #18 was experiencing now. It shuddered and busied itself with grooming its feathers.

France looked at it and smiled faintly. "Ah...I apologize, Pierre. I'm worrying you aren't I? Hmm, I'm alright now. I'm fine..." He turned his attention to the roses and did not continue the conversation any further. Pierre #18 also turned to look at the roses.

The grayish-white pallor gave Pierre #18 an idea. It flew away from France to the garden's bird bath. A symphony of different bird calls greeted Pierre as it descended into the cool water. "Chirp...chirp chirp..." ("Hello, everyone... I need to tell you guys something...") #18 said slowly.

The majority of the birds cocked their heads, questioningly.

"Chirp, chirp chirp chirp! Chirp chirrup! Chirp...chir.." ("He, the Man is not happy, and...and I'm sure that's it because of the roses! So, So! I think I should ask...ask the...c-cat for help...") said Pierre #18.

"SQUAAAAWWWWKKKKK?" ("WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?") replied all of the birds.

"Sq-Squawk? Squawk squawk squawk! Squawk squaaaawk?" ("Are you stupid? That stupid cat would never listen to you! It only sees you as food! FOOD! Don't you understand that?") cried Pierre #24.

"Chirp chirp! Chirp chirp chirp chirp!" ("Yes, yes! What Pierre is saying is very true, you should not approach the cat!") concurred Pierre #12.

All of the fowls in the fountain nodded and agreed that the cat was not to be interacted with.

"Chirp chirp...chirp chirp..chiiiirp chiiiruup..." ("The advice won't be of any use...I've already made up my mind...I just came to let you all know...") Pierre #18 said firmly.

Pierre #18, unlike the other birds, was fully aware of how much more time the Man spent with his cat when he was not with his that bit of knowledge, it presumed that the cat would have a good idea of how to cheer up the Man. #18 splashed a few times in the bird bath, before flying off to the Man and the cat's house.

July 13, XXXX 1:17 P.M.

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**Another Note: "****_Ami"_**** is friend in French, "non" means no, and "****_'tis tres tristes"_**** means 'tis very sad. Also, this story is based off a fave fairytale of mine, can you tell which one it is? **


	2. Chapter 2 Chat Pâle

**Note: Once again, the characters in my story are not owned by me.**

"Reason, I sacrifice you to the evening breeze." - Aime Cesaire

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July 13, XXXX 1:30 P.M.

Pierre #18 circled the house to where the Man's study was. As expected, the window was open for the other Pierre messenger to come back. #18 flew inside and scanned the room. There was no cat in sight. It left the study and searched on for its target.

In a matter of minutes, Pierre #18 found the cat in the living room of the Man's house. It was napping on a luxurious blue pillow adorned with gold seams around the sides. The cat's ears pricked up as Pierre #18 descended onto the pillow. "Mrooooow..." it yawned, revealing a mouth full of sharp white fangs. The feline stood up and arched its back in a stretch.

Pierre #18 caught a glimpse of a diamond-studded collar, but it was hidden a second after for the cat had turned its head, burying the collar under its white neck fur. "Meooow, meooow meooow, nya~?" ("Little bird, you have come here as a sacrifice, yes~?", translated by the epic cat-lover Greece) purred the cat. Its tail flicked lazily from the left to the right like a wind-shield wiper.

"Chirp chirp chirp chirp," ("Yes, I am willing to sacrifice, but only if you make a deal with me,") replied Pierre #18.

"Mrow? Meow meow meow meow meow," ("Oh, a deal? Little bird, you are quite amusing, pray tell what deal you have in mind,"), the feline said, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

"Chir-" ("Cat-") blurted Pierre #18.

"Hiss! Meow meow meow, nya~?" ("Please! Call me "Baron", yes~?") interrupted Baron.

Pierre #18 was taken aback by the interruption, but quickly regained its composure.

"Chirp...chirp chirp chirp. Chirp chirp chirp!" ("Baron...you are the only one who can grant my wish. In return, I'm fully prepared to compensate by any means!") Pierre offered.

"Puuuur...meow meow meow...puuuur. Meow meow meow?" ("That does sound tempting...anything I want, hm. But what is it exactly that you want, little bird?") asked Baron.

"Chirp chirp chirp chirp. Chirp chirp chirp chirp," ("I need to make the roses in the garden red. The Man is not happy because of them, I'm sure of it,") explained #18.

"Mrow...meow meow." ("Red roses huh...I've got an idea.")

Pierre #18 cocked its head attentively.

"Meooow meow meow meow, nya~?" ("How about dying it, yes~?")

"Chirp? Chirp?" ("Dye? How?")

"Meow meow meow. Meow meow," ("You can dye the roses with your own blood. That's red.")

Pierre #18 stared at Baron with wide eyes, as if it could not comprehend what the feline said.

"Meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow puuuur," ("And when you finish impaling yourself, I will eat you. I've never tried shish kabob before,") Baron continued on dreamily.

"Chirp chirp?" ("Is that the only option?") asked Pierre #18 weakly.

"Nya~, meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow." ("Yes~, if you want it to be pretty and beautiful that is. But if you just want to do a half-assed job, then you can always dye the roses with the Man's disgusting paint.")

Pierre #18 lowered its head and contemplated the choices. Baron continued to muse on about food. A few minutes later, Pierre raised its round little head. "Chirp." ("I'll do it.")

Baron looked at the bird with a pleased and satsified expression on its face. "Puuuuur, meeow meow meow," ("My, aren't you the brave little birdie.") the feline cooed.

Pierre stared at Baron with solemn eyes. "Chirp chirp chirp chirp chirp." ("Meet me out in the garden when the sun has set.")

"Meow." ("Will do, birdie.")

"Squawk! Chirp chirp, chi?" ("Please! Call me "Pierre #18", yes?")

"Meow me-" ("Pierre, I-")

"Squawk! Squawk squawk!" ("#18! That's part of my name too!")

"Mroow! Meow meow, nya~?" ("Pierre #18! I'll see you in the evening yes~?")

"Chiii!" ("Count on it!")

July 13, XXXX 1:57 P.M.

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**Another Note: Two more chapters to go. Posts and review are appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3 Oiseau Pâle

**Note: The characters in my story do not belong to me.**

"Life is only a long and bitter suicide, and faith alone can transform this suicide into a sacrifice." - Franz Liszt

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July 13, XXXX 9:59 P.M.

Pierre #18 was ready. It had spent the last remaining hours of its life singing and frolicking with its feathery friends. The little bird scanned the pale roses and flew to the biggest one. Prickly thorns dug into Pierre's feet as it landed on one of the rose's branches.

Overhead, in the trees, other Pierres and birds observed silently. Near the rose bush, Baron sat, waiting for its meal. Taking a breath, Pierre #18 puffed up its chest and plunged its heart into the thorn directly beneath the rose. #18 cried out in agony as the thorn pierced its heart. Blood spurted out uncontrollably and painted the nearby branches red. A light flush of pink was appearing on the rose.

Gathering its strength, Pierre #18 pushed further into the thorn. Bright spots of scarlet appeared on the rose like wounds on a murder victim. Slowly, they expanded and merged with one another to paint the whole rose red.

Pierre #18 looked up at its completed work. "Chi-chiiiiiii..." ("S-so pretty...") The little bird's body shuddered weakly for a few seconds then grew still.

Seeing that it was time to retrieve its prize, Baron padded over and removed Pierre from the thorn with its teeth. The other Pierres and birds watched bitterly as the cat took their dead friend into the Man's house.

"Chirp chirp chirp." ("The Man better by happy when he sees the rose.") spat Pierre #3.

All the birds nodded solemnly.

There were no songs that night.

July 13, XXXX 10:07 P.M.

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**Another Note: One more chapter to go...this is taking longer than I thought...**


	4. Chapter 4 Homme Pâle

**Note: Finally, the last chapter! France the idiot appears again! Ah, and also to be annoying and repetitive...these characters don't belong to me!**

"Ignorance is bliss." - Thomas Gray

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July 14, XXXX 9:04 A.M.

France was eating breakfast when he noticed the blood stains. They were just tiny drops on the living room carpet. Nonetheless, the Frenchman freaked out and immediately ran to the kitchen to find a towel. Baron woke up from its beauty sleep and watched, amused at its master's idiocy.

"Blood... blood in MY house! How can this possibly be? Haah... haah... B-Baron, was it you who did this?" France whirled his head around to stare at the feline. The creature in question merely looked back with cool eyes that revealed nothing. A few minutes passed between the two, before France gave up with a sigh.

He proceeded to wash off the blood stains off the rug, but the spots would hardly fade. "W-w-why? Why are you so cruel to me? Why aren't you fading?" screamed France. He felt something pawing at his right arm.

"Mrooooow..."

"Hm, what is it, Baron? I'm busy." The Frenchman raised a free hand to lightly swat away his cat. Skillfully, Baron scratched Francis's outstretched hand before playfully running off to the garden.

"Baron- you little!" cried France, as he left his blood-stained carpet and ran after Baron. The duo ended up at the rose section of the garden, tired and panting.

"Haah... haahaa ...truce...?" France rasped.

"Nyaa..." it replied.

France grinned crookedly and looked around at the garden. His eyes settled on the rose bushes.

"Ah... the roses... huh?"

His blue eyes grew wide as he spotted the red rose. In slow motion, he reached out and touched it with a trembling hand. France knew that in some way the blood stains were connected to the rose, but he couldn't think with all the emotions surging through him.

_This...this is a miracle..._

The Frenchman tore off running to the garden shed to find gloves and loppers. Baron watched its master running off. Up in the trees, Pierres and other birds gathered around and chattered about what the Man would do once he got the rose.

When France finally returned, the garden was loud with the buzz of animal chatter. He ignored the sounds and merely passed it off as a part of nature. With a happy gusto, he cut the red rose and held it in his gloved hand.

"Aaah..._tres bien_! 'Tis beautiful! The best!" the Frenchman cried joyfully. France skipped off into his house, leaving his equipment without a thought.

Baron cocked his head and smirked at the birds in the trees. "Meeeooow meow meow, nya~?" ("It was worth it, yes~?")

The birds did not answer. They had no need to.

Meanwhile, in the house, France was fussing with the rose. "Should it be like this...? Hm, non, it has to face the guest... but I want to look at it too... here... there? Ah, this is so frustrating. But at least, I made it in time."

He smiled affectionately at the rose, positioned it one more time, then went to his study. Pierre must have returned by now, thought Francis. And indeed it had. A little note lay on his desk. The country picked it up and read through it quickly.

_...What...WHAT THE HELL?_

His eyes ran over the two lines written on the note: "I can't come, sorry. I'll send you a present though."

"D-Damn you, Spain! After I worried myself sick about those roses, now you say you can't come! Now, what will I do? I want to show somebody my art, my superiority! I don't want to be alone on my birthday! Mmm, I can't invite England and Russia, they're too mean and scary. China's probably busy, America doesn't know how to get anywhere outside of his country, Italy takes too long, and Monaco has to manage the casinos! Ah... woe is me...!"

France tore the note into bits and crumpled down onto the floor. Unsurprisingly, he cried dramatically for 3 hours in self-pity. When he finished, it was already noon. Seeing that he wasted so much time on his birthday crying, France weeped some more. Hours passed by and tissues piled up to form a mountain full of tears and snot. By the time France had no tears left, it was already 4.

This is no good. This birthday sucks. Mmm... maybe some wine would do it. I could drink my worries away... such was his train of thought.

He got up on unsteady legs and went to the kitchen. Finding some bottles of vintage wine, France proceeded to down them all, until he was stinking drunk. "Haha... haha little birdie mail! Pathetic me! The rose does suit him, yes yes, it does! Oh, Spain you... you... cow! Yes, Spain, you are a cow and I hate cows! Aheheheh, but where oh where, did my pretty kitty go? Baron, Baron, where did thou art Baroneo go? Ha, Baroneo... ahahahaaaa! Heeeey, it seems that my bottle has run out of blood, birdie. Haha woe is me..."

The Frenchman slumped against the kitchen counter, staring at the ceiling, before awkwardly getting up to find some more wine. His bloodshot eyes caught the sight of the rose in the next room. "It was you... you took Spain from me..." he mumbled, crazed. In a half-sprint, half-limp, he charged to the next room and grabbed the rose.

"Evil rose! You will regret ever coming into my house! You filthy flower!" He tore the rose's petals viciously and broke the stem in half. Blood dripped from his hands, but he paid it no mind. Francis Bonnefoy kept on tearing at the rose.

Outside in the garden, Baron was chasing the birds around.

They knew not the fate of the rose.

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**Another Note: ****_Moi_**** is "me", and ****_tres bien_**** means "very good".**


End file.
